Transitional seasons come with mixed feelings – autumn a harbinger of winter, spring, of the intense heat of summer. Moods vary during these seasons of change, seasons that announce more severe times to come. Living in a hot hot hot country, I like autumn, which means winter is not far away. The winter in Bangladesh is beautiful, fresh flowers, fresh vegetables, a promise of springtime bloom. But the fallen yellowing leaf evokes emotions that are sad. There is an early morning chill already, dewdrops on the petals of flowers, the noonday heat is still severe but the evening air is cooler than a few weeks ago.
The days, of late, in Dhaka are quite strange. An early morning sunshine is no guarantee that one would not get drenched by a shower a few hours later. On rain drenched days, the sun flickers for a short second around noon, the gloom lifts but the roads are a mess of crater like potholes filled with muddy water, cars log jammed on streets that often look like canals, and movement seems a distant dream. Pedestrians have to walk on precarious roads lifting their trousers or saris a little to avoid brown spots but the exercise proves futile often.
Fall seems to be a sad season with the trees losing the splendor of leafs, an advance notice of the dark nights of winter, bone chilling yet short cold spells. Still, winter in Dhaka is a beautiful season for the most part with all the colorful vegetables, as if, sent from heaven, when walking is a pleasure and not a hard toil. Autumn is like the spring for a second time around, with the trees on fire, as the monsoon goes to hibernation, gradually, in a blaze of glory. Before the weather turns frigid, autumn is giving an encore performance of the resplendent summer with bright sunlight on some days as the ambience gradually chills. The sunlight on days scorches the earth till showers in the afternoon cools, showers as if teardrops of a departing god, the yellow monster that tormented all summer is forced to bow out. Not every day though. The sun, in a state of depression, almost, stays behind gray clouds all day sometimes, nature seems to rejoice at the reprieve.
We can take a line from Camus, even though the original context of the line was full of sadness. But taken out of context it describes autumn beautifully
“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”
Here is a poem I wrote about changing moods during a season that promises change…….
Leaves strewn on the pavement as I walk,
Leaves of colors, of many shapes.
Wrinkled, crinkled, trampled by feet
Leaves green, ashen, muddied by dirt.
Is that a yellow I see in the midst?
A bright yellow, a signal of fall
Burning bright as if in a blaze of fire
Soon to be devoured by the autumnal rage.
Screaming in pain in last rays of the sun
A surrender in the end to the cruelty of time.
Gone are the days of spring, of summer splendor
Of lustrous green, smooth as velvet,
The drop of rain sliding across
An avalanche of water making it bow
Like a maiden drenched all over
Walking the muddy path in rain
Feeling shy at the on-looking lusty gaze.
The heart feels sad with the season’s call
As you go away during evening gloom.
Your hair dancing wild in the breeze.
Adieu say the strands as you leave,
A cold wintry night is all that awaits
Crestfallen, I stare at the yellow leaf.
S M Shahrukh
Dhaka
18th October 2015
traces of orange 